


Pretend the World Has Ended

by jenaicompris



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Female Friendship, Friendship, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Original Character Death(s), POV Female Character, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, War, World War II, dreams do weird shit okay, will update tags when more characters happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-30 04:04:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10153277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenaicompris/pseuds/jenaicompris
Summary: Beginning in 1939, years before Steve attempts to join the army, he meets a future nursing student on the streets of Brooklyn. The gregarious too-tall Izzy, daughter of Irish immigrants herself, is quickly endeared to him by way of his kind mannerisms and bright, sad eyes. (Will update when there's more to tell. Work and chapter titles from She Wants Revenge lyrics.)





	1. You Can Say Anything To Me

The streets of Brooklyn weren’t the friendliest sort when the streetlamps fought the dying sun to light the way but there are a lot of necessary evils in life. Walking home from a late-night study session to the three bedroom walkup that housed twice as many occupants as it should’ve was about the only way a girl like me could get around regularly.

A girl like me, Iseult O’Dwyer, was the too-tall dark-haired oldest child of Irish immigrants. The other three are all boys and all nearly my height with only five years separating me and Bradan, the youngest. Shy of eighteen, most nights I worked at a diner just Brooklyn side of the _good_ part of town and most days I spent studying, sometimes it was a mixture or totally different. It was the summer of 1939; in a few months I’d hit eighteen and my first wave of training to become a nurse.

Ma wanted me to be a nurse so I could meet a doctor. _I_ wanted to be a nurse because my other childhood dream had fallen through; pirates weren’t really in style any more, especially in Brooklyn. I had bigger dreams for myself than that but Ma tried to keep my feet on the ground so instead of pushing the envelope and trying to pry my way into medical school, I set my sights somewhere else. Nothing wrong with being a nurse, and I wanted to be a damn good one.

There wasn’t a lot of traffic at this time of night in that particular street, at least not in my experience; the footfalls that sounded behind me set my shoulders a little straighter. When a male voice, slightly high, called out ‘Excuse me, miss?’ I debated briefly with whether or not I should turn around.

Ultimately, I did. A few feet behind me stood a tiny man – there really is no better way to describe him. He was more than a few inches shorter than me – I missed six foot by an inch, two if I slouched – and still shorter than Bradan, who was only twelve. His limbs were thin too, even inside too-big threadbare clothing. He was breathing heavily like he’d been running, and he stood with one shoulder slumped and the opposite hip hiked just a little. He was beneath the streetlamp behind me, myself between the glow of two.

In one hand, he held a piece of notebook paper that must have squirreled itself loose from the book in my arms.

“Did you drop this?” His speech was labored but his face was focused, as though he was trying to push through it.

I moved closer to him, an arm’s length away. He looked even smaller from there, although his blue eyes were big enough to distract from that.

“Looks like mine,” I smiled at him, reaching a hand out palm-up to take it from him. “Thank you for returning it, it would have taken me ages to go through it all again. It’s just notes, but still.”

“You’re very welcome, miss.”

“Iseult, but call me Izzy. Are you walking this way?”

The man looked at me for a minute like he was either trying to figure out what I was about, or I had spilled coffee down my front, before he nodded a little. “Yes. And I’m Steve.”

“Hi Steve,” I smiled a little, tucking the page back into my book and standing to the side so that we could walk next to each other down the walkway. I’d have to clip my strides in half to keep him up, but it didn’t matter much to me. “You just wandering ‘round Brooklyn, saving us damsels?”

“You mind walking on the other side? I don’t hear so well out of that ear,” he smiled sheepishly, tapping his left ear so I moved to the right – this tucked me between Steve and the road.

“I don’t mind at all. What I said wasn’t that funny anyway,” I grinned at him, holding my book tight to my chest. I noticed he had a cluster of papers tucked beneath his arm in what I thought was a make-shift portfolio. “What’s that you got there, under your arm?”

“Just some doodles. What were your notes for?”

“Oh-ho, game of questions?” I laughed a little, raising my dark eyebrows in mock-surprise. His breathing had slowed a little, for which I was glad. I used whatever money we could spare on books, mostly. I didn’t know half of what I intended to, but I did know that wasn’t _good_. “Well, I fancy myself a nurse. I’m studying all manner of medical tomfoolery. Can I tell you a secret, Steve?”

He seemed momentarily flabbergasted at the suggestion but nodded anyway.

“I _really_ want to be a doctor. I plan on becoming a nurse and saving up the money to enroll. But don’t go snitching to my ma. She won’t hear any of it.”

“Why’s that?”

I sucked my teeth but smiled and shrugged. “Ma comes from the sort of place where respectable women marry hardworking men. She wants me to _marry_ a doctor, not _be_ one. Cannae blame her, I suppose.”

“Do _you_ want to marry a doctor?”

I shrugged again. “Can’t rightly say. I wouldn’t necessarily _not_ marry someone _because_ he was a doctor, but I’m not about to marry just anybody because he _is_ one.” I paused briefly before completely changing the subject. “So what are your doodles of, then?”

 “The bridge,” he replied easily. “Some trees. One of my pal Bucky.”

“Who’s that?”

“Bucky? My best friend. I’m going to meet him, down at the dance hall.”

“The one up off Ocean, you mean? You’re bringing your sketches with you?”

“Yeah, you know it? And I don’t really dance much.” He seemed mostly unperturbed by the statement he made but there was a look in his eyes that I couldn’t place. Sorrow or apology, I wasn’t quite sure.

“Do you have the time? I’m meant to be home before too long, but if you don’t mind some company I wouldn’t mind sitting with you. Or even _dancing_.”

When he looked up at me again, his face reminded me of a kid on Christmas – although he toned down the grin just a little and then it slid away, tempered by too many rejections I’d wager. I wasn’t unfamiliar with the idea, being nearly six foot from about the age of twelve myself didn’t _endear_ me to the opposite gender. Not that it was in any way comparable to what I imagine Steve went through, I could at least sympathize in that aspect. His gaze slid away from my face and he lifted a thin arm closer to inspect the hands on a cracked-face wristwatch.

“Quarter of seven.”

“I’ve got some time. Told Ma I’d be home no later than eight. I’ll only be a few blocks from home at the hall, so I can probably stay about an hour. If you don’t get sick of me first.”

He made a noise that sounded like dismissal, of the thought I hoped. “Do _you_ like to dance?”

“If by ‘dance’ you mean kind of sway in the middle of a group of people and pretend like I know what I’m doing?” he smiled a little and a grinned widely. “Yes, actually. I don’t do it much. My feet hurt too much usually. I work at the Diner on 32nd.”

“Always thought that name was a bit on the nose.”

“I thought it would’ve been better as the Thirty-Second Diner. Like, it takes thirty seconds? But I’m just a waitress, I don’t make those kind of decisions.” I laughed and so did he. Despite the fact that he wasn’t what one would normally call _handsome_ , he had a way about him. Sure, he was small and sickly. But his eyes and his smile were growing on me really quick on those darkening streets.

We ended up talking about all of the names that would suit my place of employment better than the one the owner, George, had chosen all the way to the front of the dance hall. Lucky for me, this one wasn’t the sort of place that cared much how old you were as long as you kept to yourself and didn’t cause a fuss. I wasn’t the type to cause a fuss, at least not the sort of one they wanted to avoid.

When we entered, Steve started looking around to find his friend. He wasn’t having much luck but I heard someone calling my new friend’s name. Steve didn’t seem to hear it and the voice grew louder; I touched him gently on the shoulder and he spun around to look at me, eyes wide. I smiled sideways at him and pointed with the same finger to the image of a young man in slightly nicer clothes with dark hair slicked back. He was probably shy of two inches taller than I was, making him more than a half a foot taller than Steve.

“Bucky!” the lighter hair of the two of them grinned when he saw his friend. “Glad I found you. This is Izzy, we met on the walk over.”

“He’s being too humble. Steve noticed I’d dropped some notes and took it upon himself to return the, saving me from hours of cramped handwriting. I bullied him into dancing with me.”

Were I the type of girl that swooned, I could imagine doing so in response to Bucky. Personally, though, I just appreciated how handsome he was in the way you do to your best friend’s boyfriend. But he _was_ **very** attractive. He grinned at Steve and then me, offering his hand out to shake. “James. Bucky. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Iseult, technically. But my friends call me Izzy. Nice to meet you too.” I turned to look at the one that brought me there. “Do you mind holding my book for me? Going to run to the powder room and grab us something to drink on the way back. I’m in a juice mood, how about you?”

He looked at me strangely before he smiled, “Cranberry and soda?”

“Man after my own heart,” I beamed at him, holding out my book before I swanned off.

“Bucky, do you need anything?”

To indicate that he didn’t, he lifted the bottled beer he held in one hand. I nodded my head in acknowledgement and swanned off to the bathroom.

I really should have been spending my money on over-priced dance hall drinks, but I figured Steve shouldn’t either. From the looks of him, he needed a few good meals more than anything – but a few dollars wasn’t going to be the difference between making rent and not for us, so I could spare it then.

After the drinks were had, I managed to lure Steve onto the dance floor. His face was almost as red as our soda-juice drinks, forehead about to my nose. His hands were shaky and his feet unsure as Bucky settled at a table with our respective papers and empty glasses.

“You don’t have to do this,” he started, voice squeaky as we shifted casually to one of the slower songs of the evening.

“Don’t have to do what?”

He made a face, like he couldn’t understand. I remembered his comment about his hearing and repeated myself, a little louder. The look on his face changed but this time it was more of a long-suffering but also somehow apologetic sort of expression.

“Dance with me.”

“I thought _you_ were dancing with _me_ ,” I replied, pulling my face back enough to smile at him. “If I didn’t wanna, I wouldn’t be.”

“Like how you don’t want to marry a doctor?”

“Well, maybe if you go to medical school,” I grinned at him and winked; his blush extended to the tips of his ears.  “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. I asked to walk with you, I invited myself along, and I asked you to dance because I _wanted_ to.”

He looked at me for a moment, head tilted up enough to do so. It was a little strange, dancing with someone shorter than I was – not that a lot of people weren’t, to be honest – but it was pretty okay, especially because it was Steve. His eyes were really nice and his smile, like I mentioned, was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. “Huh. Well, I guess that’s all true. Okay, maybe you do want to, then.”

“I also want you to walk me home, if you’re up to it. And then I want you to come to the diner tomorrow when my shift ends. I normally work nights, but I had to take a day shift tomorrow to make up for tonight. You okay with all that, Steve?”

He looked both happy and surprised, easily more of the latter, before he nodded a little. I could feel his hands tighten a little on my waist in a sort of unplanned response and blush bloomed in his cheeks again. I smiled easily down at him and he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Good. ‘Cause I would too. Does Bucky have a girl?”

His face fell a little and he mumbled, “Almost always, but not a steady one.”

“Why so glum? I’m not asking for me,” I laughed a little, shifting my hand on his shoulder so that I could gently tap his jaw. “I was going to say, he and his lady come along if you want.”

“So…is this supposed to be a date, then?”

It was my turn to blush at the high-eyebrow expression of surprise on his face. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be? But yeah, I guess that’s what I was thinkin’, anyway.”

“You’re funnin’ me, aren’t you?” he asked, voice serious and eyes narrowed as if he was inspecting me.

“What? No, Steve. I mean, I know girls usually wait for guys to ask and all but I figured what the heck, you know? Not every day a girl like me meets a guy like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You fishin’?” I laughed a little at the expression of disbelief on his face. “Listen, Steve, you want me to list all your positive qualities, you’re just gonna have to show up for our date tomorrow night, ya hear?”

“All right, all right, twist my arm,” he grinned, a full-face boyish grin full of the sort of charm I bet he didn’t know he had. Yeah, he was a little guy and probably sicker than he knew but he was sure sweet as anything.

We danced a little more before I noticed he looked a little worse for wear, so I said my feet hurt and we sat down again until I needed to leave. Steve did, in fact, walk me home – Bucky strolled along with us but kept a few feet back when we made it to the front of the building.

“I owe you a drink,” he blurted, as if the idea just struck him.

“You don’t owe me a thing, except a date,” I quirked one edge of my lips up in a half-smile. “I get off at seven tomorrow, which means I’ll actually be able to leave around eight if the history is any indication.”

I moved back a little and lifted a hand to wish Bucky a good night before I moved closer again and pressed a light, quick kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Steve.”

His face was beet red again and his grin lit up the night. He lifted his hand to gently touch were my lips had been and looked up at me. “Good night, Izzy.”

“You boys get home safe now.  I’ve got a date tomorrow and I’m not about to miss it ‘cause of some tomfoolery.”

I grinned every step up to the apartment I shared with my family.


	2. I Know That You're the Right Girl but Do You Think That I Am the Right Man?

The rest of my evening went by rather uneventfully; I scarfed what leftovers I had been allotted – with three teen boys, it was rarely enough to leave me stuffed – and settled into the living room for a brief nighttime chat with my parents. My brothers were about the apartment doing whatever it was they wanted to, mostly reading.

“I met someone tonight,” I started, knowing I would have to tell them eventually. There were rules about this sort of thing, especially in my family.

“A boy someone?” My mother asked, perking up almost immediately from where she sat, knitting a new sweater for the coming fall months. By the looks of it, it was likely for me.

“Yes. His name is Steve. Met his friend, Bucky, too.”

“ _Bucky_?” Mom repeated, making a face.

I shrugged. “It’s a nickname. Anyway. I’m meant to meet up with Steve tomorrow night, after my shift at the diner. Do you suppose that’s all right?”

“What does this Steve do?”

“He’s a student,” I replied easily, although I didn’t know if it was a lie or not. I would have to confirm this.

“How did you meet him?”

“He was walking behind me in the street and saw one of my notes. Picked it up and ran up to give it to me. Walked me home and everything.”

“Right too,” Da replied quietly from behind his limp newspaper. I rolled my eyes a little, knowing Ma was looking at her knitting.

“So. Tomorrow night.”

“Just the two of you?”

“Might double with Bucky and his girl, but I don’t know yet.”

“I don’t like the idea of you going out with this boy alone,” Ma replied, frown creasing more than her lips as she lowered her knitting to inspect me.

“Ma, he’s not exactly a _boy_. He’s probably twenty or so, bein’ in college and all.”

“You don’t know how old he is?”

“I only just met him. I don’t tend to ask that sort of stuff immediately, you know? I mean, he’s clearly not ancient or years younger, so what’s the harm?”

“What, exactly, do you know about this Steve?”

“Enough to know that I would like to go out with him after my shift tomorrow.” I frowned deeply and crossed my arms over my chest. “Da?”

“Oh, don’t you ignore me, young lady.”

“I’m not ignoring you, Ma. I swear, you let me go out tomorrow and I’ll see if I can get them over next week for dinner.”

“You want me to feed _both_ of them?”

“I’ll pick up another shift, if that’s-”

“Nonsense,” Da replied, paper completely lowered into his lap. “Moira, let the girl go out. She can throw a punch if she needs to. You’ll be home by eleven, Iseult, no arguments. And you will most certainly invite both young men over for dinner, Wednesday after next.”

Two and a half weeks I had, to convince Steve dealing with my family for dinner was worth the time I’d get to spend with him. I already _knew_ what Ma was going to say the second she saw him and it hurt.

Speaking of, Ma was not particularly amused when Da put his foot down – most especially when it was in my favor and not hers. Although I _did_ want to argue against eleven, because I stayed out later when I worked night shifts, I decided against it.

“Great, thanks,” I stood from the couch and kissed Ma on the forehead, who batted me away gently with her dark red hair frizzing out from a long-suffering bun low at the nape of her neck. I moved over and repeated the action to Da, who tugged me down and pressed a kiss to my own forehead.

“Get some sleep, _a leanbh_.”

So I did. I left my parents and tried to fall asleep as best as I could. What I ended up doing was trying to guess at what ailed Steve.

Minor hearing loss in one or both ears, at least. I wondered where that came from? I was curious about his posture, not familiar enough with his movements to figure it out exactly. His labored breathing from running struck me as asthma, the slight wheeze that caught on and died away.

Why this was important to me, I didn’t really know. I think part of me wanted to help him, or to at least know how to help him if something happened while we were out. If he had an asthma attack, was there anything I could do? I had read about it, actually – not enough, and I made a mental note to find other information I could on it before school started – and knew that a large part of the medical world believed it to be psychosomatic than anything. That seemed wrong to me. Why would he _willingly_ run to catch up with him if he _mentally_ had convinced himself he couldn’t breathe when he did so?

What did I know, though; I wasn’t even in nursing school yet.

Eventually I did manage to fall asleep. The next morning passed fairly quickly, Da and the two oldest boys off for work before me but after a quick coffee. Ma wouldn’t be much longer – she had taken a part time typist position when Bradan was old enough to left alone, after Da’s accident. He didn’t much like that she worked, didn’t think it was right, but she insisted.

If I knew much of anything about our family, it was that she didn’t really need to. The boys didn’t either, except to buy themselves things they wanted. Emmet, the oldest, was saving for college too. He’d be seventeen a month before my eighteenth birthday and he had big dreams. Carig fancied himself an army man, when he was old enough – he had two and a half years left before he could enlist. Bradan was either too young or too foolish to think that far in the future and, besides, couldn’t find a job outside of the Sunday papers. It was enough for pocket money, at least.

On what Da made alone, we could’ve likely had a bigger house – especially before the accident that knocked him out of the construction business. He had been quite the builder. I thought, if he’d had a mind to, he could’ve been an architect; but getting married had been his priority, and once you’re married, you have to work to support your family. There was no time for him to go to school.

Ma worried more than she needed to about money, but that was just her way; she worried more than she needed to about pretty much everything she could. Ever since we nearly lost Da, I think it kind of did a number on her. I was fifteen when he shattered his leg, falling off the beams; we were lucky that was all that happened, but there was no telling that to Ma. He got it set but it never quite healed right; he could walk, but it was stiff when it was cold and he didn’t trust himself up in the skeletons of buildings anymore.

I didn’t ever really want to be a waitress, but when Da couldn’t work there was a short list of things a girl my age could do – most of them were things I wanted to do _less_ than wait tables. George was a good enough guy, even if he insisted my uniform skirt wasn’t too short when it definitely was, and most of my customers ended up being regulars anyhow.

George and I didn’t run into each other much when I worked the night shift because he tended to haunt the place during the day; that morning, when I showed up half an hour early for my 11am shift, was no different.

“Hey, Iz. Nice change of pace, having you on days. Might switch you over, all told.”

“Only until the fall you will, George. I’ve got classes coming.”

“You sure you don’t just wanna stay here until you find Mr. Right?”

I rolled my eyes at him and tied on the white apron around my waist; I always thought the white was a strange choice, although it was by far easier to clean. “Speakin’ of, I have a date tonight. I’d really like to get outta here when I’m due out, George.”

“What ever do you mean, sweet thing?”

Again, I curved my eyes skyward and straightening out my collar. I tucked my pen into my ponytail and slid the small pad of paper I rarely used into the apron pocket before I turned back to him, arms folded across my chest. “I _mean_ , I’m due out at seven and I’d like to leave _before_ seven-thirty this time. Eleven curfew, it’d be nice to have more than twenty minutes with ‘em.”

What I think was to my benefit was the fact that, despite his wandering eyes, George was a relatively happily married man. His occasionally flirtatious commentary may have been uncomfortable at times, but he was quite harmless.

“I get it, I get it. How’s about I do you a favor and you do me one?”

“Won’t agree to a thing until I hear this favor you’re asking of me.”

“Work eleven to eleven Saturday and you can walk out soon as your man shows up, long as your tables are cleared.”

“My tables are _always_ cleared, George,” I reminded him, not loving the idea of the twelve-hour shift that would inevitably turn into something more like fourteen. “What if he shows up before seven, then?”

“A deal’s a deal, Iz.”

“Okay. But I need two Wednesdays out off too. And I’ll probably want a Friday off every once and a while, if he sticks around.”

“With gams like yours, he’d be mental not to.”

“George…” I warned playfully, eyes narrowed.

He seemed unperturbed by my reply, holding his hands up palms-out as if in surrender. “Just sayin’, Iz. Anyhow. Yeah, put it in the book and I’ll do what I can do.”

“Fine.” I moved away from him, towards the office, to do just that. When the bell over the door signaled a customer, there was no small part of me that hoped it was Steve. Fortunately for my pocketbook but unfortunately for my day, it wasn’t.

I didn't mind working days - the ratio of drunk to sober patrons heavily favored the latter this time of day, which I definitely  _did_ prefer - and they went by a little more quickly. I didn't see my regulars, although some of the customers recognized me from my occasional foray into the daylight hours.

I was thrilled to see Bucky and then Steve enter at half past six. 

"George, he's here. I have one table to buss up. I can pass off the last two to Reggie."

George, of course, had to come out from the kitchen to eye my suitor. Reggie was taking both boys over to a table. 

"He looks all right," George made a face, adjusting his posture as he looked over Bucky.

"The brunette one is Bucky, Steve's friend. The blond one is my date," I smiled wide, waving a little across the restaurant. Through the side of my mouth, I murmured to George. "If you're rude, you'll find yourself without an Iz."

Now, in most situations a girl like me couldn't threaten her employer like that - but George knew I put up with way more from him than I ought to have and, more than that, I think he kind if considered me a friend. 

"Seems like a nice kid," was all he said after a long pause. "Get your table cleaned and let Reg know the plan. A deal's a deal."

I made a bee-line for Steve and Bucky, "Hey fellas. I've just got to finish up a few things, then I'll be fine. Brought my change and everything. Shouldn't be but a few minutes."

"Don't rush on our account," Steve smiled, cheeks red. "I...I'm glad you're here."

"Well, where else would I be?" I grinned, putting a hand gently on his shoulder for a brief moment. "I'm glad you came. Did Reggie take your drink order?"

"She sure did," Reggie said from behind me with two sodas on her tray. "Steve here said you all are going on a date tonight."

"Mmhmm. Soon as you take my tables," I jerked my thumb over my shoulder to indicate the couple and the small group I had left. "I'll let 'em know the switch, grab twelve, and get changed."

Regina shook her head. She was a few years older than I was, married with a small baby bump pushing out the front of her uniform. "Don't you worry about it, sugar. Go get dressed. I'll take care of everything."

"You're a peach!" I smiled brightly and turned to look back at Steve and Bucky. "Don't go anywhere now, I'll be back in a jif."

I grabbed the biggest bits off of table twelve to make Reg's life easier on my way to the back, shoving what tips I had left in my pocket into my purse and depositing my apron to be washed. I skirted into the bathroom and changed faster than I think I ever have, tugging my dark hair out of its ponytail and fluffing around my freckled cheeks.

I was pretty plain. I don't know that anyone other than my parents had every said I was much else; I was smart, that I knew. And relatively graceful, when the situation warranted. I wasn't necessarily  _un_ attractive, I just didn't really have the sort of fact someone would write poetry about. It never bothered me much, except the occasional look or muttered comment from my mother.

But the way Steve's face lit up when I joined them at the table, it almost didn't matter that I'd been called plenty of names in school and had a mostly-empty dance card for most of my life.

"Just the three of us, or did you find yourself a friend for the evening?" I asked Bucky as I settled in beside Steve. He scooted over enough in the booth to leave me room. I didn't push to sit too close but did put my purse on the other side. 

"I'm not stickin' around long, just came with the punk to grab a soda."

"You boys eat dinner yet?" I could tell by the grumbling next to me, which Steve tried to cover by layering his hands over his stomach, that the answer was no. "Well I haven't, and it isn't polite to make a lady eat alone. You fellas fancy some burgers?"

"That's mighty kind of you but-"

I sucked my teeth and shook my head. "No buts, handsome," I leaned a little into Steve and smiled. "I almost never eat meals on shift, George owes me more than a few. Any requests?"

Neither of them looked much like they wanted hand-outs but neither of them looked like they wanted to turn it down either. Eventually I weaseled their preferences out of them and popped up, moving over to the kitchen.

"Georgey," I grinned, leaning on the counter. "I got an order to put in. I know you don't mind skirting me this one big meal, right?"

"You gonna tip your waitress?"

"I'd be a fool not to."

He huffed a little and took the order I wrote down. He whistled lowly. "Those boys sure know how to eat. Don't make it a habit, all right?"

"Wouldn't dream of it. You're lovely. Thanks, George."

"Yeah, well, he better be worth it. Can't wait to hear what your ma has to say about him."

"Hush, would you?" Taking a soda, I moved back to the table and settled beside Steve. I left my hand on the seat between us and smiled at him.

"Everything all right?" He asked, looking over my shoulder to George.

"Oh, yeah, sure. He's harmless. I've been working here for ages. We're old friends now, he's just busting my hump."

I never did find out what our evening plans were originally, nor did I find out what else Bucky meant to do with his time. We just all three sat and talked, laughing and sipping our sodas. Steve wasn't quite tall enough to comfortably put an arm over my shoulder, and I genuinely don't know if he would've anyway, but he did layer his pinky over mine.

It was progress and it made me smile.

"Oh rats. I'm going to turn into a pumpkin soon, have to be home by eleven." I smiled brightly, tugging a tip from my purse. "You have enough time to walk me home?"

"Of course, doll," Bucky's dimples were cute but Steve's hand curving around mine after we stood from the booth was everything. 

"Onward," I laughed a little, letting go of Steve's hand as he moved to hold the door open for me. The walk home was too short; Steve let me know I had seven minutes.

"Thank you both for a really lovely time." I waved a little at Bucky before turning my full attention to Steve. "I've got a long day Saturday but tomorrow is free, Sunday after Mass too."

"You want to see a picture tomorrow?" His voice was hesitant but his eyes were hopeful.

"With you? Any time," I smiled brightly and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his cheek like the night before. "When are you free?"

"I can swing by here around 2, if you like."

"Make it noon and I'll make a picnic." 

He grinned so brightly it was like the sun had risen again at twilight. "Deal. Have a good night, Izzy."

"Stay safe, sugar. You too, Bucky."

The more time I spent with him, the less I noticed that I had to repeat myself or speak up, that I had to walk more slowly and stop more often. It was three days before they were due for dinner to meet my parents that he kissed me the first time. We had seen each other nearly every day for the better part of two and a half weeks. It was close enough to my first kiss to count; it was also the sweetest thing I had experienced in my young life.

We had gone to Coney Island, one of Steve's favorite places, and wandered around the grounds hand-in-hand. Bucky was off with his date, a girl closer to his age than mine whose name I never learned, and we were sharing a spool of cotton candy.

We stopped near the fence that surrounded the ferris wheel, separating those that rode from those that watched. I tilted my head up to look at it.

"You can go on if you want, I don't mind waiting," Steve offered, nodding his head at it. His asthma had put him in a fit earlier that day and he was worried the height might trigger another one.

I shook my head and squeezed his hand gently. "Nah. I like it best right where I am." 

He smiled a little at me, blush in his cheeks. Whenever I said anything that was even the slightest kind to him, he seemed to hold himself a little straighter. I leaned with the elbow not holding his hand on the fencing, looking out beyond the wheel to the ocean. 

"It's crazy to think that my parents and your parents all came here on a boat. Out of all the people in all the world, they found each other." 

I thought he'd say something sweet or even silly but instead he said, "Izzy?"

I turned to look at him and he moved his blushing face closer, just a little.

"I'd really like to kiss you, if that's okay."

"I'd like that, Steve." 

"You would?" He breathed, blue eyes wide. I grinned at him and straightened out a little before I leaned down, bringing our faces closer again.

"An awful lot."

It was a brief peck of a kiss, his lips pressing into mine while his fingers stayed entwined with my own. It was demure enough that my parents wouldn't have made a fuss but it still sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. 

When he pulled back, I was pretty sure we were wearing the same expression on our red-cheeked faces. 

"You taste sweet," he blurted, hand tightening around mine as if afraid I'd leave then.

"Cotton candy," I smiled, waggling the paper cone that held what was left of it. "You  _are_ sweet."

"I-...I-I'd like to do that again," he smiled a little sheepishly.

"I would too." 

"Do you...Do you want to go steady, Iz?"

"I was waitin' for you to ask," I grinned and leaned in to peck his cheek, hitting the corner of his mouth and feeling giddy. "That's a yes, by the way."


	3. As We Look At This Thing Called Us

Mom’s face lit up when she saw Bucky step in the doorway and she immediately extended her hand out to greet him.

“Ma, this is-”

“-Steve!” she interrupted me, glowing as she shook not-Steve’s hand.

“No, Ma, this is Bucky,” I sighed a little, Bucky shaking her hand lightly before moving aside to reveal Actual Steve.

I slid closer to him and slipped my fingers between his. When Mom’s gaze registered her folly and what she perceived as mine, I could see the muscles in her jaw working to keep her smile plastered on her features. I squeezed Steve’s hand gently and he lifted the other one to take my mother’s.

“It’s nice to meet you Mrs. O’Dwyer. Izzy talks about you a lot.”

“Nothin’ good, I betcha,” she replied with eyes narrowed at me, the falseness of her smile apparent hopefully only to her daughter. The lilting of her Tipperary accent had faded some in the last nineteen years, but it was still fairly prevalent.

Steve started to reply in my favor but I smiled at him and tugged gently at his hand. “She’s pullin’ your leg, Steve. Ma’s good at that. Now, let’s move in from the doorway and introduce you round. I’ll leave you to the mercy of Da so I can help finish with the table.”

Mom looked like she wanted to ring my neck, I think, but she moved off and went back to the kitchen as I led the two men further into the apartment. It was a fairly sizable one but cramped with six people living in it and two guests. It was all right, though.

As per usual, Da was sitting in his lounger with a newspaper. His leg, which had never quite healed right after his accident, was propped up on a stool. He had been fairly fit when he was younger, not unlike Bucky. After the crash at the construction site, though, he looked a bit like his chest had fallen and taken up residence in his mid-section. He could work okay in the warehouse as the foreman, because it didn’t require the same agility that the sites had. Didn’t leave him too happy, though. He was the sort of man that wanted to do hard labor, not mostly sit behind a desk.

“Da,” I cleared my throat, not having let go of Steve’s hand. Bradan, Carig, and Emmet were scrunched together on the couch. They stopped chittering immediately and looked up. Bradan snickered and Carig, bless his soul, elbowed the little brat in the ribs.

“Da, this is Steve, and this is Bucky.”

Steve extended his hand, which my dad took without further ado. I let out a quiet, relieved sigh and thanked God silently. He took Bucky’s next before looking at the couch. “Call me Breccan. Boys. Be polite and get off yer lazy arses. Guests sit on furniture, you know.”

I laughed a little as Bradan, who was easily taller than Steve and several years younger, was more or less shoved to the floor when Carig and Emmet stood. Emmet was the oldest and the quietest, whereas Carig was the most like Da without a doubt. Bradan had a lot of Mom in him but was also just _mostly_ a little shit.

“Now _you_ boys,” Da looked at Steve and Bucky. “Sit down and tell me about yeselves. I’ve only heard bits and pieces from my Izzy and I feel like there’s much more to tell. Iz, get us some beers, would ya?”

“I think we’ve run out,” I replied, trying not to single Steve out for not wanting to drink. “I can get some tomorrow, if you like.”

“Sodas then,” he grumbled a little, although he smiled despite it.

I heard the words under my mother’s breath as soon as I stepped into the kitchen. “ _Cliamhain istigh_ ,” she muttered in Irish.

I sent her a glare. I didn’t know as much of the language as either of my parents, but some phrases they’d used enough for me to pick up. “Ma. Could you not?”

“I worry about you, Iseult. What sort of job can a boy like that have?”

“Ma!” I squeaked, almost dropping the stack of plates I’d grabbed to set the table. “Could you at least wait until they’ve left? Besides, Da has a good job as he is, which isn’t as he was.”

She looked at me hard for a long moment before she hissed something about ungrateful daughters under her breath, waving me off with one hand. I almost wished she was more like Mrs. Bennet than she was but put on a smile to take out the plates. Belatedly, I realized that I had neglected to grab the sodas.

There were, in fact, several beers. I bypassed them entirely and gathered the drinks, giving one to my father, then to Steve, and finally to Bucky.

“You didn’t tell me your Steve comes from good Irish stock,” he smiled, winking the way Da did. I loved both of my parents as much as is possible but I liked Da a lot, especially right then.

“Thought I should leave something for you all to talk about. I’ve got to dodge back in and finish helping Ma, won’t be long now.”

I did just that and my mother and I skirted around each other, silently setting the table and finishing up dinner aside from whatever direction she felt she needed to give me.

Aside from Ma’s mostly-silent protest with some attempts at playing nice and Bradan’s snide remark about Steve’s height, the dinner went fairly well. I was glad to see that both guests ate what looked to be enough to fill their bellies, surrounded by teenage boys that would eat twice as much no matter what Steve and Bucky ate.

There was another show we wanted to see that night and so we left shortly after dinner, when I’d helped Ma clean up. With so many in the house, there were no real leftovers to speak of. I would’ve liked to send something home with Steve and Bucky but couldn’t make food out of thin air. Instead, I kissed my parents goodnight and promised I’d be home by midnight.

“Hope Da didn’t put you through the ringer too bad,” I smiled a little as we moved out onto the sidewalk in front of the building my family lived in, finding Steve’s hand as we fell into step beside one another. Bucky walked on my other side, hands in his pockets.

“Nah, he seems like a nice man. It’s a shame, what happened to his leg,” Bucky replied, Steve looking fairly intently at where he was putting his feet.

I watched Steve mostly, but replied to the brunette. “He hates being laid up like he is, but he’s found something he’s just as good at even if he’s bored half the time. It was touch and go for a bit at first, but now it mostly only bothers him when he’s up too much or when it’s cold. There was some talk of moving out west but then the job he’s got at Shipman’s came through. They might eventually, all said and done.” I stopped, frowning a little. I tugged on Steve’s hand gently. “Why the long face, sugar?”

“Uhh…The walls in your kitchen aren’t very thick,” Bucky replied with a sad sort of smile, Steve not looking up at me.

I frowned deeply, anger coloring my cheeks a bit before I stopped our entire parade and shifted to stand in front of Steve. Still holding onto one hand with my own, I lifted my other to cup his cheek. My hands were bigger than his, fingers longer. I could hold nearly half his face in one hand, but I wasn’t thinking about that when I looked down into his sad blue eyes. “You listen to me, Steven Grant Rogers. My mother is a finicky sort of person that worries overmuch about every little thing. Don’t let her fool notions get in your head. You’re the best fella I’ve ever met and she’ll know it too, when she stops worrying about nonsense and lets herself realize just how wonderful you are. You got it?”

“She’s right though, you know.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” I smiled slightly, trying to lighten the mood. It didn’t work. With my hand still on his cheek, I leaned down to press a kiss on his lips. “ _I’m_ right, Steve. I’m right about _you_. And as long as you keep being the sort of fella that you are, I’ll keep right on holding your hand ‘til you let go. And don’t mind Bradan, he’s a prig. The only one that _doesn’t_ know that is Ma.”

It must’ve been the tension snapped by my matter-of-fact tone, because Bucky let out a laugh and shortly thereafter, so did Steve. He squeezed my hand a little and we made our way on to the picture show.

As time went on, I switched my shifts to work around Steve’s classes as much as I could manage. George loved it because he got me on days again, at least until classes started. I loved it because I could spend as much time with Steve, and often Bucky, as we could work out. Half the time, I was studying alongside Steve – Bucky was around a lot, becoming like a fourth brother to me. I made dinner as often as I could, or lunch – they weren’t well-off, sharing a one-bedroom in a slightly seedier part of Brooklyn. Bucky worked in the shipping yard and Steve – well, Steve did whatever he could to make ends meet. Sometimes that meant selling artwork or hawking papers. I let him spend his money when he had the look about him that suggested he was feeling inadequate but tried to either choose things that didn’t cost money or find ways to let him be okay with me paying for things.

One afternoon, after having met Steve at the stop from the subway nearest his apartment, we wandered back that way and settled in for sandwiches and studying. My favorite place in the apartment, aside from sitting beside Steve, was in the windowsill that led to his fire escape. Because it was an exit, it was slightly larger than the other windows and allowed for more sun to make its way into the apartment. Despite the relative closeness of the buildings, it still offered a somewhat decent view of the street outside – along with the alley below.

When Steve drew, I tried not to crowd him – he didn’t like it when people looked over his shoulder and, despite my best efforts, I found myself curious. So, to remove the temptation, I removed myself from the situation. That is how I found myself seated in the window, warm summer air ruffling my hair as I propped my book on my thigh.

Nursing classes would start the beginning of September, giving me only a few more weeks of the luxury of his nearly constant company. I thought he would’ve gotten tired of me by then, having been going steady and steadily in each other’s company for almost four months.

I shifted a little and Steve spoke, “Wait…don’t move.”

Ignoring the desire to look at him quizzically, I simply tried to resume the slightly uncomfortable posture I had been trying to rid myself of. Instead, I turned the page in my book with one hand and continued reading.

It was several minutes later when he let me know I was free to go and I laughed a little, setting my book down to stretch. “Didn’t want me to block your view?”

He shook his head as I moved closer to him, one hand moving to cover the page in his sketchbook. “You are the view.”

Steve’s strong suit wasn’t necessarily sweet-talk; Bucky seemed to get all of that out of their friendship. My boyfriend, which seems like the oddest phrase, had many other wonderful qualities but it was rare that he said something sweet enough to make _other_ girls’ swoon. He said things that made my heart happy more often than not, but not often was it the sort of thing you would find in a romance novel.

However, was he uncovered the picture he was drawing after saying those four words, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. The picture he had been drawing, while I knew it was me, it was difficult for me to believe. I could see aspects of myself in it, knew intellectually that he had been drawing me – but the girl he had drawn was stunning. The softness of his lines, the shadowing on the curves – it brought tears to my eyes.

“You’ve made me beautiful,” I smiled widely at him, running my fingers over his forehead to brush aside hair that had fallen over it.

“You are beautiful,” he replied.

I shook my head, “If I’m only beautiful to you, that’s all that matters to me.”

Time spent with Steve was always my favorite. To say we never argued about anything as the months passed would be a lie, but they were never mean-spirited conversations. In general, any sort of disagreement we had was over insecurities (on his part or mine) or money, mostly me trying to spend mine. I knew he felt guilty, it was written all over his face, that he wasn’t the sort of man my mother envisioned for me. He and Bucky ate dinner with my family at least once a week, generally under the guise of me having little other time to see one or both of them. My friendship with Bucky grew to the point where we would spend time together when Steve was in class and I considered him my best friend, outside of Steve.

Time passed, classes went on, and the war began to knock on our front door. It was slow at first, trickling in via newspapers and word of mouth from overseas. The more we learned, the more Steve grew unsettled. Bucky was already planning on enlisting and Carig was itching to turn eighteen.

Steve and I were together for nearly two years before the discussion of the army ever came up. To be going steady so long was fairly unheard of and, while it gave my mother hope that I would ‘come to my senses’, it worried me that something was amiss.

“Are you happy?” I asked him once as we lay on a blanket in the small neighborhood park. It was dark, probably darker than we should’ve stayed out, but we both had wanted to try and see the stars. It wasn’t an easy thing to do in that part of the world, with all the lights from the city still raging on – but we liked to try.

“I want to join the service,” he replied; this was the first he had mentioned it. I knew Bucky meant to, but Steve had remained fairly quiet on the subject.

It wasn’t my job to tell Steve what he likely already knew; there was no way he’d be admitted into the ranks. He had too many health problems, not to mention his mother’s tuberculosis. It was my job to let him know I supported him, even if the idea terrified me. “I…I understand.” I reached for his hand before I shifted, moving enough to rest my head against his chest. I didn’t put all of my weight there, even though I could’ve. I hadn’t intended my question to answered that way, but it was clearly what was on his mind. “I don’t want you to. I know that’s awful of me to say, but I have to. I don’t want you to go overseas. I don’t want you to maybe never come back. I don’t want you to get hurt, not ever.”

The hand that wasn’t holding mine shifted almost hesitantly to my hair, stroking it gently over my shoulder. “I…I need to do this. My father was an army man. More than that…it’s important. It’s important to stop the Nazis. And I…” he stopped and I could feel him shift as he shook his head. I tilted my own head back, looking up at him as he looked down to me. “It’s important, Izzy.”

“ _You’re_ important, Steve,” I frowned, turning to press a kiss against the flimsy shirt that covered his thin chest. “Can’t I be a little selfish and keep you here all to myself? If something…if something happens to you, I don’t know…”

I could feel the tears in my eyes and felt a fool but knew there was nothing I could do about it. The _idea_ of not seeing Steve, of _never seeing him again_ made me want to hold him tighter than I ever had.

“Don’t worry,” was his reply as he smoothed my hair down, leaning over to press a kiss to my forehead. “Don’t worry about me, Izzy. I’ll be just fine.”

I sat up slowly, still holding his hand in mine and wiping at my cheeks with the other one. “Steve. Let’s go back.”

“What do you mean? To the apartment?”

“Yes. I want…” I didn’t know how to put it into words. We had skirted around going any further than light petting with our clothes on. At this point in most other relationships, we’d be married with a kid and one on the way. With Steve, it was more about who we were and less about where. I wasn’t sure _why_ he hadn’t proposed to me yet, although when I wasn’t worrying it was _my_ fault I thought it might’ve been my mother’s. I leaned closer on one hand and kissed him, the sort of kiss I hoped could explain what my words couldn’t.

He squeezed my hand a little tighter and when we broke to breathe, his face was a little flushed and his eyes a little starry. I felt like I probably looked the same. “Izzy, are you sure…?”

“Steve Rogers, there is a short list of things that I have ever been more sure of in my life. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. And I am not about to lose you to the army without being wholly, truly yours as best as we can get without a priest involved.”

He seemed equal parts appreciative and concerned at my wording. “Is that…is that something you want?”

“What?”

“A priest. To get married, I mean. To me.”

“I’m fairly certain I said as much the first time we danced together,” I smiled at him, feeling ridiculous at having to spell it out for him. “You think I just stick around because of those baby blues of yours? I love you, you goof. I love that you’re sweet, kind, and funny. I love that you can draw me the way you see me, not the way everyone else does. I love that your hands fit into mine. I love that you snore but won’t believe me. I love how your tongue sticks out the side of your mouth when you’re concentrating really hard on something. I love that you want to save the world, no matter how awful it can be. I love when your hair sticks up in all manner of directions unless you wet it. I love how you’re always warm. I love that being with you keeps me walking slower so I don’t miss all the things there are to see. I love the face you make when Bucky says something ridiculous. I love how much you love music and how you tap your foot and try to hide it. I love that you’re the kind of man that stops and picks up papers that look like nothin’ to give them back to a too-tall nobody in the middle of a dark Brooklyn street.”

There were a few different things I thought I expected from him in response; the shining of tears in his eyes before he curved his hand around my cheek and pulled me close to kiss me with as much passion as I think I’d ever felt was not on that list. I wasn’t sorry for it either.

We packed up the blanket and entwined our fingers, walking the few blocks back to his apartment without incident. As you are only given one first time – both in entirety and with each person – I can only speak to my personal experience. We didn’t talk about marriage and we laughed when I stubbed my toe. It was sweet and silly. It was wonderful and it was, in my opinion, absolutely perfect.

I was meant to go home at some point and lay beside Steve in bed afterward with my head on his chest, over his heart. I could hear the uneven thrumming of it, fingers trailing over his chest as his trailed over my shoulder.

“I love you,” he murmured against my hair, splaying his hand out over my shoulder. “I couldn’t think straight to tell you earlier.”

“I know,” I smiled, turning to press a kiss against the dip in his chest. We had exchanged the words many times after approximately six months into going steady. “You don’t have to tell me, I can see it in the way you look at me. Every time you say my name, I hear it.”

“What did I ever do in the world to get so lucky?” he breathed, finding my hand with his to bring it to his lips. “I never thought I’d find someone like you. Someone to love me.”

“All the better for me,” I closed my eyes a little, holding myself along his body. “Can we stay in this bed forever? Just right here and pretend the world’s ended already?”

He laughed a little, a dry and squeaky sound. “Nah, doll. We have things to get on with, don’t we? Besides, if you don’t show up at home, your parents’ll come lookin’.”

I wanted to say ‘not if we were married’ but I didn’t want to push it. I was too happy being in his arms to worry about anything other than being present in the moment with him.


	4. I'd Cry If I Thought It Would Change Your Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some quotes from the movie in here.

It seemed like almost every day, Steve was getting worse. More frustrated, more disappointed, sadder. Rejection after rejection from the army, year after year. I was working long hours at the hospital by then, the diner was a long-forgotten walk in the park by comparison. I had moved out of my parents’ apartment and into my own, just down the hall from Steve and Bucky. I would’ve preferred to just move in but he still hadn’t proposed. We had been together for nearly five years; five wonderful, amazing years that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Much longer and I was going to do it my damn self.

It got worse after Bucky enlisted, followed by Carig being drafted. They went for basic training and while I was busy worrying about my little brother and my as-good-as older brother going off to war, Steve was still trying to fight his way into the ranks.

With Bucky gone, it seemed absolutely ridiculous to keep myself separate from Steve. In truth, I was hardly home enough for it to matter with the rounds I was putting in. I had a mind to apply to work overseas, but I wouldn’t do that to Steve. I wouldn’t leave him all alone.

We couldn’t very well move me into his place, otherwise I’d have to explain to my parents the change of address. Instead, I enlisted Emmet’s help under penalty of murder to move Steve’s and Bucky’s things over on a Tuesday. I intentionally did it while Steve was out – we had discussed it happening, but I didn’t want to force him to move and cause an incident. I did leave some things – I mostly got Emmet’s help with the large things that Steve would feel the need to help but would probably end up hurting himself doing so. It felt dishonest, but so did not talking to him about my feelings regarding Carig and Bucky or about my desire to aid in the war effort.

When Steve returned, Bucky was in tow. I flew to hug him immediately, mussing up him uniform but not sorry about it. “Hey doll…you feel like going dancing?”

“I’m hardly in any state but I sure do. I’ve got most everything moved over, like I said in the letter. A few boxes – Steve!” I turned to look at him and noticed the bruise forming under his eye, the blood dried under his nose. It didn’t look broken, but only slightly. I leaned closer to him, touching the side of his nose and happy that he didn’t wince. “What happened this time, sugar?”

“…Bullies,” was all he replied, shrugging me off and going to grab a box. I gave Bucky a meaningful look and he mouthed ‘ _rejection_ ’. I inhaled deeply, touching my forehead with the heel of my hand. When I regained composure, I moved toward the door of the apartment Bucky and Steve had lived in for longer than I had known them.

“I’ll go get ready. There’s  a steak in the freezer for your eye, peroxide on the sink to clean up.”

There was a lot more I wanted to say than that, but I was used to it. Steve came home bruised and beaten more times than I could count. I worried what he looked like under his closed, the mottled bruises that were surely forming.

“…treat her like that,” I heard from Bucky as we walked in opposite directions, him more into the apartment and me out into the hall. I sighed again and let myself into my apartment, moving to the bathroom and leaving the door cracked. I didn’t know if Steve was actually going to take care of himself, but I wanted to believe he would.

When I had showered and dressed, I found the pair of them on the couch I had scrounged up, located across from the one Emmet and I had carried over.

Steve had, in fact, cleaned his face and was currently holding the steak to the spot below his eye. His movements were stiffer than normal and I knew without a doubt he had taken a shot or two to the ribs.

“To what do we owe this honor, Bucky?” I smiled broadly at him as I settled across the room from the two men.

“I got my orders. I ship out to England tomorrow,” he replied, glancing at Steve when he said, “107th. Your brother was in the class behind me, don’t have word. He should be back out in a week or two, though.”

“I’m sure Ma’ll be beatin’ down my door when he gets home. Let’s worry about you now, yeah? So whaddya want to do with your last night of freedom, then?”

“The Stark Expo’s in town. The World Exposition of Tomorrow. It’s a whole fair.”

“Oh, I’d heard. Karen at work had mentioned it the other day. I’m game. Steve?”

Steve looked like he was game for going to bed and not much more but he nodded a little, holding the steak in place. “It’s his last night, we oughta go.”

“Great! I got a girl planning to meet me there, it’ll be great.”

“Color me surprised,” I grinned at him, tapping his cheek as I passed him by for Steve. I bent at the knees and tugged at the edges of the steak to look at his bruise. I frowned a little at the color before I pulled the meat away completely and kissed him briefly. “Chalk it up to experience, s’what Da always says. Let me just put this away, then, and I’ll grab my things.”

I didn’t make much of an effort to get to know the women Bucky brought around; not because I wouldn’t have liked to, but because it wouldn’t do me any favors. If I made friends, it would just end up awkward for the lot of us. I learned that the hard way in nursing school, when I introduced him to my friend Cat. Two wonderful nights together, she said. And then he left me holding the bag. I was sore at him for a while after that one.

This girl, though – Trina, she said – didn’t seem the type to think much more than a night ahead and so I felt comfortable learning her name, at least, and playing nice.

Until she asked why we weren’t married.

The words left her mouth, my hand holding gently on to Steve’s as he and Bucky were facing another exhibit. I knew he heard her because his hand tightened in mine.

I thought briefly of coming up with an excuse but couldn’t think of something quickly enough. Instead I decided on classic miss-direction.

“Isn’t Stark’s show supposed to start soon?”

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky replied, sliding an arm over Trina’s shoulders and leading her towards the stage we would find Howard Stark on. He turned his head over his shoulder and winked at me. I slid in closer to Steve; normally, he would release my hand and slide his own along my back while I put my arm along his shoulders. He was still tense from earlier, I thought, and this was only the straw that broke the camel’s back.

We watched the showcase and I curved around Steve more than I ever did in public; I draped one arm over his front, resting my hand on his chest my other still held his. He excused himself to get some popcorn and I stood awkwardly on the other side of Bucky until Stark’s car crashed back onto the stage.

I turned around but already knew that I wouldn’t find Steve.

We had passed a recruitment center. I had grown accustomed to locating them whenever we were within a few blocks because Steve always seemed to disappear into them.

Bucky caught my eyes when I turned back around to look at him. I made a face and shifted my eyes back over my shoulder. He frowned and dropped Trina’s hand, leaning to kiss her cheek. “Doll, I’ll meet you outside the dance hall. Won’t be a tick, alright?”

“Sure thing, Bucky,” she grinned and we started off towards the army recruitment center.

“I don’t know why I’m even surprised anymore,” he sighed a little but flashed me a smile as we moved through the crowd.

“Are you really?” I rolled my eyes but smiled back at him. “Hey…Bucky, I think…I think you should go in first. He gets…I don’t think he likes me to see him like this. He’s already on edge today, I don’t want to make it worse. I’ll wait outside.”

We made it to the front and I stopped beside the open archway, watching Trina move through the crowd. It might have been petty, but part of me blamed her.

I could hear them, even amongst the din of the crowd and the fair.

“Come on, you’re kind of missing the point of a double-date. We’re taking the girls dancing, remember?”

“…You go ahead, I’ll catch up. Iz’ll be fine for a few.”

I could hear the frustration in Bucky’s voice, could imagine the face he was making. Steve didn’t even have to spell out what he was doing for both his best friend and I to know what was going on. “…You really going to do this again?”

“Well, it’s a fair. I’m gonna try my luck.”

“As who? Steve from Ohio? They’ll _catch you_. And worse, they’ll actually _take_ you.”

“Look,” Steve said, in the tone that let me know there was no arguing with him. I knew him, Bucky knew him. But Bucky wasn’t going to stop. “I know you don’t think I can do this-”

“This isn’t a back alley Steve, it’s _war_.”

“-I know it’s a war-”

“Steve, why are you so keen to fight? There are plenty of other jobs.”

“What do you want me to do, scrap metal?”

“I want you to _stay_ , Steve. You got Izzy. She’s standing outside, waiting for you to make another boneheaded decision. How long do you think she’s really going to wait around?”

“She’s half of _why_ , Bucky!” His voice raised in pitch a little. “I’m not going to sit in a factory, Bucky. Come _on_ , there are men laying down their lives. You, Carig. I got no right to do any less than them. _That’s_ what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.”

“Right,” Bucky replied, sounding very, _very_ done. “’Cause you got _nothin’_ to prove.”

For the second time that night, I wanted to say a few choice words to Trina as he voice called through the night, “Hey Sarge, we going dancing?”

I saw Bucky move a little more out as he turned around to address her, charming Bucky back in place, “Yes we are!” before he moved out of sight again. “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you,” I heard Steve as Bucky backed into sight again.

Bucky moved back forward and I heard, “You’re a punk,” followed by Steve saying “jerk”.

“Be careful…don’t win the war ‘til I get there.”

Bucky threw a wink over his shoulder as he slid his hands into his pocket. He stopped just shy of me and looked into my eyes.

“You hear all that, doll?”

I frowned a little and nodded. “Yeah. I…I guess I expected as much, you know? But I still… I still don’t know what to do, Bucky.”

“Same thing we always do, huh? Love the little punk and try and keep ‘im standing.” He grinned at me and pulled me in for a hug. “I’ll be seeing you, sister.”

“Keep that pretty little head on your pretty little shoulders,” I returned his expression and his hug, pressing a familial kiss against his cheek. “Go get your girl. Remember to sleep, yeah?”

He tipped his hat and flashed his charming smile before he caught up with Trina, disappearing into the night.

I breathed in and out a few times before I smoothed wrinkles out of my dress that probably didn’t exist, curving around the side of the building to make my way in and find my boyfriend.

I settled in the waiting room they had set up; it was meant mostly for those attempting to enlist than for the partners of them but I didn’t have anywhere else to go right then. I saw the strange looks and the lack of women, aside from the nurses. Again, the desire to cross the ocean sung through me. But I couldn’t – _wouldn’t_ leave Steve alone.

I saw the MP walk through, followed shortly by an older balding man in a brown suit. I barely breathed until I saw the MP leave again. Steve wasn’t in eyesight and I hadn’t heard him talk – they curtained off area for the physicals were through another doorway and I hoped he was still in there. He couldn’t have been arrested and brought out without me or Bucky noticing right?

When I saw him in front of the desk with the man in brown, the latter opening a file and Steve saying “Brooklyn”, I thought my heart stopped entirely.

The look on Steve’s face could only mean one thing.

I felt the sob bubble up in my throat and barely clapped my hand over it before the sound escaped. _This is what he wants. This will make him happy_.

 _This will make him **dead**_ , I thought and nearly lost the battle again.

I stood and moved out of the room, back into the main hallway as I took great gulps of air to calm myself down. I hoped Steve hadn’t noticed me, _prayed_ that I could get myself together before he found me.

“Izzy?” he said, thrill lacing his voice as he approached me. I was pacing a little and stopped, turning to look at him with what I hoped was a mostly blank expression.

“Buck-”

“ _I got in_ ,” he cut me off, for probably the first time ever, and a grin spread across his face. His hands found my cheeks and he pulled me down to kiss him in his excitement.

I was terrified that my tears were going to spill onto his cheeks and give me away. When the kiss broke, I wrapped him in a hug and settled my head beside his. “I am _so happy for you_ ,” I forced out, wishing it was less of a lie. Well, it wasn’t really a _lie_ – I was happy _for_ him. I was happy that he was happy. But I was **so** **scared**. “Let’s go dancing, yeah?” I tried not to sniffle as I stood up a little straighter. He held his hand out to me in a show of a sort of gregariousness that he didn’t normally possess.

I let out something like a giggle as I took his hand and ducked beneath his arm in a facsimile of a spin. We danced, very briefly, in the hall that led to the recruitment station and I laughed like my heart wasn’t breaking.

We made love for the thousandth time when we returned home, although it felt like it might be the last and it scared me even more. I never wanted to go to sleep because I knew the next morning would come if I did.

He had been told by the man in brown – a Dr. Erksine – to report to Camp Lehigh. He’d been told almost immediately after he was given the green light and it worried me even more.

I felt sick as I lay there, listening to Steve’s uneven heartbeat with my head resting gently on his chest. I was right; he had bruises along his right side. I wished he could wait, at least, until he was healed but that wasn’t something I had a say in. He wouldn’t have listened to me anyway.

I kept on hearing him say ‘She’s half of why’ in the tone he’d used with Bucky. In the wee hours of the morning with too little sleep and too much worry, I cried near-silently against the warmth of his chest that I worried I’d never feel again.

 


	5. Sugar, Don't You Forget Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit shorter. It also feels hella rushed, but most of this does. AND! Disclaimer: I know...jack and shit about the army, army nurses, and most of the minutiae here. Feel free to correct me or just pretend it's right, haha.

I kissed Steve like I would never see him again. Camp Lehigh wasn’t too far away but I worried regardless. He promised he would write as often as he was able and I believed him.

The first day after he left, I was lost. Between lack of sleep and lack of Steve, I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I put my notice in at the hospital almost immediately and began the process of applying for the positions overseas. If Steve made it through, he’d be shipping out no doubt. If he didn’t, I would need to go in his honor.

I believed in Steve. I believed in Steve more than anyone had a right to, but I was terrified. It was likely irrational, but it was true.

He wrote to me every day; he was only meant to be in training for a week, which made me curious but he couldn’t answer any questions. I read each letter about Colonel Phillips, Agent Carter, and Private Hodge. About the flag, about the grenade.

And then his last letter, telling me he loved me.

I was sitting in the park, on my ratty old picnic blanket. The sun was bright, the space open enough to receive most of the rays. I had Steve’s last letter to me open in my lap, covering the pages of the book I was meant to be studying.

I was terrified something had happened to him. It had been several days since I had received it and the tone was worrisome. He was excited, I could tell; but nervous. I swear I had _felt_ my skin itching the morning after it was dated. I had what I could only describe as a panic attack, dropping a carafe at the diner for the first time in all the years I’d worked there.

I had been on edge since then, which was only enhanced by the letter. It was postmarked nearby; he was close, but not close enough. It _hurt_ to think about.

The sky darkened over my suddenly and I tilted my head to look, ensure that it was just cloud cover and not that it would start to rain.

When I did so, a large male form dressed in a military uniform was what I saw. The man’s face was obscured by the sun behind it.

“Iz?”

The voice was different, lower; but the way he said my name, it never changed.

I was on my feet, book overturned with the pages of the letter trapped beneath it, in a flash.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I was set level with his chin. I felt sick with excitement and nerves.

“ _Steve_?” I gasped, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Steve? Is that really you?”

“I guess so,” he smiled in his charming, boyish smile in a fuller, strong face and I knew it definitely was.

I let out something like a scream of elation and threw my arms around him, burying my face in a foreign chest. “I am so glad you’re okay! I was so worried something happened…”

He held me tightly to him with unfamiliar arms, the warmth of his cheek pressed into the top of my head. A chuckle started low in his chest and he turned his head to press a kiss into my hair. “Howard lost the bet.”

I pulled back a little, not completely, to look up at him. I was still in shock at the difference but it didn’t matter because he was _okay_. “What bet? Who’s Howard?”

 “Howard Stark. He said the first thing you’d say was something about how I look. I told him, not my Izzy.”

“Damn straight,” I grinned up at him; that phrase in and of itself was strange enough to send me reeling, let alone the feel of a muscular chest beneath my hands. “Steve…What happened? Are you actually okay?”

“I can’t…I can’t tell you much about it, it’s a top secret military initiative. And I…” he stopped and shook his head a little, still smiling. He pulled me closer, one hand in my hair and the other on the small of my back. He looked at me quietly for a long time before he covered my lips with his. Without a doubt, I knew that this was still my Steve, tall and broad or short and slim. This was the man that I loved and had loved for the better part of five years. When he broke the kiss, he pulled himself away from me and put himself on one knee in the middle of a picnic blanket we had shared many a date on. “Iseult O’Dwyer, I have wanted to ask you this every day since the very first. You have stood by me, accepted me as the man I was. Will you still, and forever, as my wife?”

Still reeling over the strangeness of him, shaking from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, I took his hands. It didn’t matter to me that he didn’t have a ring, it didn’t matter to me if he ever did. “I have waited for you to ask me this every day for almost five years, Steve. My answer would have always been ‘yes’. But…why now?”

I hated ruining the moment, but I had to know. I thought I already did, but I needed to hear him say it.

“I needed…I needed to be a man you could be proud of, a man that could give you something. You were afraid when I tried to enlist but you _still_ supported me, even after every denial. You danced with joy when I received the okay from Dr. Erksine, but I could see the tears in your eyes. It has never in our life together mattered to you what I could do for you, but it has always mattered to me. Now, like this, I can be everything you need. I can _give you_ everything you need. And besides…your ma won’t wear black to the wedding.”

I was crying, almost sobbing; he knew I loved him. I felt sad that he had waited so long, put it off for so long, because his own feelings of inadequacy. Dropping to my knees in front of him, I cupped his face in my hands. Everything about him was bigger, larger than life; where my hands used to eclipse his cheeks, they were now dwarfed by the chiseled features. “Steven Grant Rogers, you are a fool. You are a beautiful, magnificent fool. I have always been proud of you and you have always given me exactly what I needed. _You_. I would love you if we ate potatoes every night and lived in a shoebox apartment above railroad tracks. You, the handsome little angel from the wrong side of Brooklyn with a need to save the world from all the bullies in it. _You_ are the man I love, whether you’re six inches taller than me or six inches shorter.”

“Now I _deserve_ you,” he replied quietly, brushing hair from my face.

I shook my head, frowning. “Steve, I’m the one that doesn’t deserve _you_. You are the kindest person I have ever known. You are _so good_. I’m sorry if you ever felt any other way.”

He pulled me in, encasing me in his arms. His deep voice reverberated through his chest, into me. “I look now how you made me _feel_. With your eyes on me, I felt like I could take on the world. Now I _can_ , and won’t end up in the hospital. Please, Izzy, please say you’ll be my wife.”

“I can’t deny you a thing,” I murmured against the material of his tear-soaked uniform shirt. I clung to him, despite the strangeness of it, and nodded. “And I never want to. Yes, Steve. Yes today, yes every day from practically the moment I met you until the day I die and after.”

“You sure? I probably won’t ever be a doctor,” he joked, breath ruffling my hair.

“That’s okay, I will.”

We couldn’t have a big wedding, or even a fancy one. We waffled with the idea of waiting for Bucky to return from overseas but decided that, knowing Steve was being sent out in only a few days’ time, we’d do it right and proper when they both returned safely to the States. Instead, I bought a slip of a dress and he wore his dress uniform. My mother, who was at first in shock and then crying with joy, stood with my father and myself. A woman I had never met but heard of briefly over the past week, who Steve introduced me to as Agent Peggy Carter, had come to stand as his witness.

I think, even then, I was still mostly trying to process the difference. When I reached for Steve, I was surprised to find his hand larger than my own. When I moved to kiss him, I went low instead of high. My entire world view was on its head but I had a small ring on my left ring finger and a new last name.

I was too caught up in the sheer joy of _finally_ being Mrs. Steve Rogers, held aloft in his arms as he carried me up three flights of stairs without breaking a sweat.

I had loved Steve as he was and found in him everything I needed in a partner, regardless of what he or my mother thought. This Steve, who was half again as tall or so it seemed and still ran into doorways because he didn’t remember his shoulders were twice as wide, was still _my_ Steve in every way but physically.

We had been together before this change in him, although he was hesitant at first because of his worry about not being enough. I never pushed him, never had a mind to. It came when we both wanted it to and despite its imperfection, I would never give up those memories or a moment of that time.

Steve now – he told me, at least, it was a _serum_ but I wasn’t meant to tell another soul – after the serum that had his body reminiscent of a Greek god was something entirely different. I had found beauty in his body before, in the narrow hips and thin hands. I love him not in spite of his physical differences but because of them. They were a part of who he was, and I loved him.

Despite his change in appearance, Steve was still very much that same person. He was graceless but agile; he slipped or dropped things but caught either himself or the things almost immediately. His musculature had women turning their heads, even with his wife on his arm. I could have felt inadequate but when he looked nowhere else but me, I had no reason to. I don’t even know if he _noticed_ them noticing him.

The first night we spent together as husband and wife, the first time we were intimate after he had endured the transition to his enhanced body, was unlike anything I had ever experienced. While some of that can be attributed to his change, more of it was the idea of him being shipped off and suddenly being Mrs. Rogers.

He alternated between saying “my wife”, “Mrs. Rogers”, and variations of my name as he kissed me everywhere that could be kissed. He had always been patient and attentive as a lover but it seemed as though he was experiencing me for the first time again. He never made me feel like a chore or obligation and always seemed to wonder, whenever I showed myself to him, at the look of me. It was an incredible thing, to be so loved.

I received a telegram early the next morning, notifying me that I had been both accepted and placed as a nurse for the army.

I clutched the paper to my chest as I closed the door, feeling a mingled sense of relief and dread. I dreaded telling Steve – more than that, perhaps, my mother – but I was glad to be doing something.

Upon seeing the half-naked man wander from our bedroom into the kitchen, separated from the living room by the back of a couch, I was struck.

“You are beautiful,” he breathed and I moved my gaze to his face. The smile he wore was the same. My mother had accepted his change very easily, my father a little more suspicious but accepting regardless. At this point, both Emmet and Bradan had been drafted as well. They had left two days after Steve. Carig still hadn’t come home.

“You still think so, and that’s all that matters.”

“Mrs. Rogers,” he grinned, crossing the space quickly and curved an arm around my back. “…I will never grow tired of saying that.”

“And I will _probably_ never grow tired of hearing it,” I responded, dodging forward to kiss the end of his nose. I set my hands on his arms, the paper of the telegram crinkling against his bicep.

“Are you all right?” he frowned a little, leaning his forehead against mine.

“Did your height come with an enhanced perception skill?” I joked, turning my head to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I’m still…adjusting, I suppose. It’s you. It’s definitely you…You’re just different. Not bad different, not good different. You’re Steve, you’re _my_ Steve. My _husband_. But you’re...”

“Taller,” he smiled, the edges of his blue eyes crinkling with the emotion. “But you’re right. I’m still me, I promise.”

“I know,” I pulled back a little and lifted the telegram, unfolding it against his chest before I handed it to him. “I…” I sighed and turned away as he took the telegram. He didn’t look at it, just me.

“What’s wrong, Iz?”

“I quit the hospital,” I started and his face shifted, somewhere between confused and sad. “I…also…”

“ _No_ ,” he breathed, reaching me easily and wrapping a hand around my arm. I winced and he looked _horrified_ as he pulled his hand back as if burned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“I know you didn’t mean it. It’s…don’t worry about it. It’s fine. But…” I gestured to the paper still in his hand, forcing myself not to rub my arm. I _knew_ he hadn’t intentionally hurt me and never would. He had been very careful with me since finding me with this changed body. He would adjust and so would I.

“Oh, God, _Iz_ ,” he breathed after his eyes had scanned the paper and he had lowered it again. “Iz, take it back. Tell them you take it back.”

“It’s not that easy,” I replied, taking the paper back from him and folding it over, holding it over my heart. “Besides…I _want_ to do this.”

“It’s _dangerous_ , Iseult!”

“I _know_! I know it’s dangerous. _You’re_ going there. My _brothers_ are there already. **Bucky**! Everyone that matters to me, aside from my parents, is fighting in this war. I can’t just…I can’t just _sit here_ when I can _do_ something. You of **all people** should understand that!”

“I do!” he moved forward again and lifted his hands like he meant to touch me but turned away again, running a hand through his hair instead. He looked every bit like the sickly young man I had met all those years ago. “I _do_ understand but…but Izzy, it’s _war_. I can’t…” He stopped again, dropping his hands in defeat to his sides. “ _I can’t protect you.”_

“You don’t have to,” I sighed, moving over to him. I dropped the paper on the floor, not caring where it landed as I lifted my hands to hold his face. “You just have to come back to me. Our parents crossed the ocean and found each other. Then, in a sea of thousands of people, you found me on a street in Brooklyn. We’ve come this far, Steve. Just come back to me.”

“You listen to me, Mrs. Rogers,” his words were shaky with emotion and my hands dropped to his shoulders as his fingers slid into my hair. “You keep yourself safe. You understand? Don’t you dare go dying on me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, _Private_ Rogers,” I smiled before he covered his lips with mine.

We both had our reporting orders for that evening, leaving us just barely enough time to tell my parents. I wanted to write them a letter but Steve told me I had to do it in person.

Telling my parents went just as poorly as I imagined it would. I had never seen my father cry, not even when he was in so much pain his face went white; he very nearly did that day.

“All of my children!” my mother cried, collapsing into his arms. I moved forward and reached for her shoulder, Steve standing at my back.

“Ma…don’t worry. We’re all coming home. All of us. That’s why I’m going, to make sure everyone makes it back.”

“But things _happen_ ,” she wailed, green eyes rimmed in red. She turned her gaze on Steve and narrowed her gaze. “You! This is _your_ fault!”

“MA!” I hissed, shaking my head. “Steve had nothing to do with this! He doesn’t even want me to go!”

“You put this idea in her head! I’m losing all of my children and-”

“Moira,” Da said, his voice low and calm. He held her tightly but warmly. “Steve is our son now too and we both know Izzy can’t be convinced to do anything she doesn’t want to do to begin with. Give your children hugs and let them go on. The soon they leave, the sooner they get back.”

Ma looked like the last thing she wanted to do was hug Steve, but she did it anyway. Part of me wondered if she would ever forgive him and I hoped, desperately that she would. I hugged her tightly, inhaling the smell of her hair and wondering if it would be the last time I had a chance to. I almost cried when I wrapped myself around my father and he murmured into my ear, “Stay alive, little one,” in Irish.

When Steve and I left my parents’ home, now entirely empty save for themselves, I clung to him as though he was the only thing keeping me rooted to the ground.

“You okay there, doll?” he asked, turning his head to kiss my temple as he walked down the street. It was strange, mostly because he would’ve been kissing my shoulder before.

“Not really,” I sighed a little but forced a smile as I looked over at him. “But I imagine I will be before long.”

When we arrived at the base to fly out, hand in hand even then despite what I imagine were regulations against it, Agent Carter and Colonel Phillips were there to greet us. Phillips had orders for Steve and Carter had orders for me.

“You’ve been reassigned,” Agent Carter spoke to me directly, glancing at Steve. “If you’ll come with me, we have a plane to catch.”

I turned away from her and threw my arms over Steve’s shoulders, his hands curving around my sides to hold me close. I kissed him like I’d never see him again for the second time in a little over a week and wondered if it was true this time.

“Stay alive, Private,” I murmured against his lips.

“Stay safe, Mrs. Rogers,” he replied before we let each other go.

“That was fast,” I heard the Colonel say.

“It was a long time coming,” Steve replied as I settled in-step with Agent Carter. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Where am I headed now, then, ma’am?” I asked, turning to look at her as we crossed the tarmac to a relatively small – or so I thought, at least – plane.

“Italy,” she responded, with a hint of a smile. “Umbria. You’ll be providing medical assistance to the 107th.”


	6. [Silence, Rainfall]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the readers for reading, bookmarking, and kudos'ing. Thanks to Emily for letting me pick your brain and the encouragement.
> 
> This one is also short - and again, I know...very little and my research is less than fruitful. 
> 
> Also, I added a character that isn't canon - Matthew Carter. I was reading up on Peggy and Sharon. They never named Sharon's parents - her father would have to be the son of Peggy's brother, but Michael is the only canonically listed brother and he is decidedly NOT Sharon's grandfather. So. Poof, character.

Adjusting to the time change was by far the easiest part of my transition to camp life. With working all hours at the diner and then whatever round I was given at the hospital, I was used to finding sleep where I could.

The thing that made it easiest was finding Bucky, alive and mostly well, at base camp. It was probably against regulations to hug him like a squealing child but I did it anyway.

“What are you doing here, Iz?”

I gestured to my uniform with my hand. “I-”

“What’s that on your hand?” he asked, eyes wide as he grabbed my left hand, with which I had showcased my uniform.

“That would be a wedding band. There’s a matching one on Steve’s,” I grinned, “Or should I say _Private Rogers’_.”

“The little punk did it!” Bucky grinned, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me, spinning me about like one of his girls on the dance floor. “He finally did it! Wait…” he stopped, setting me down. “What do you mean, Private?”

“Oh, god, that’s right. I thought he would’ve written to you, but with everything going on he probably couldn’t. I don’t…I don’t know how much I can tell you. Steve wasn’t supposed to tell me a whole lot of anything but the short version is…he’s… _different_.”

“Different how?”

“SARGE!”

Bucky winced at the call of his title and ducked his head a little. “After dinner, then?”

“I’ll be here!” I smiled, waving a little at him before he turned and took off at a quick jog.

Life as a nurse in a hospital was one thing; it was chaotic, full of long hours and death. Life in a military camp was a completely different beast with too many of the first two and so much more.

I had Bucky, though, when he wasn’t busy being a soldier – which wasn’t, truth be told, very often. I managed to tell him what I could about Steve. I also told him he had to make it through the war because we had to have a proper wedding, with him standing beside Steve like he ought.

I had Peggy, too. Agent Carter, while not immediately the warmest person, became what I considered a friend quicker than I anticipated. There were the other nurses as well; when you’re thrown together like that, sometimes the thing standing between a man and his death, a sisterly bond forms whether you like it or not.

And then there were the other soldiers.

Steve wrote to me when he could, which wasn’t as often as I would’ve liked – but with how long it took to get our letters back and forth, it was probably for the best. I told him as little as I could to avoid worrying him. I _personally_ wasn’t in much danger, and he was glad to hear that I was around to keep Bucky in line.

One particular instance I didn’t mention to him was the first and only time one of the soldiers decided I had caught his eye.

I wasn’t particularly used to the attentions of men; George was one thing, his flirtations all in good fun even if they probably toed the line here and there.

When a drunken soldier puts his arm around you, that’s a whole other story.

It was, as fate would have it, Private Hodge.

“Got some legs on you, under that cape,” he breathed the alcohol into my face, plucking at the clasp that lay against my neck.

“Lots of people do,” I replied, pushing against his chest with an expression that did not suggest any interest whatsoever. “You mind, soldier?” I lifted my left hand to show off the wedding ring, indicating I didn’t appreciate his attention.

“What’s that mean out here, when we’re gonna die any day?”

“You’re aiming to die a lot sooner if you don’t get your hands off of her.”

I don’t think I was ever happier to hear Bucky’s voice in all my life up to that point of it, although there were times that had come close.

“What, you want a go first?” Hodge laughed, shoving me towards Bucky.

“I’d be careful what you say to Mrs. Rogers,” the sergeant growled, helping me to stand on my own. “And about her. Understood, Private?”

Hodge’s reply was a grumble and a salute before he stalked off to find another unsuspecting but perhaps more willing participant. Bucky let out a heavy sigh before he turned back to me. “I think Steve ought to have been more worried about _that_ than bullets, Iz.”

“As Da always liked to say, I know how to throw a punch. Don’t worry your handsome little head about me, sugar.”

“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll lay off. If he doesn’t, you tell me,” his tone and his expression brokered no disagreement. “You hear from Steve lately?”

“I got a letter a couple days back. He’s…” I shrugged a little. “He’s pretty quiet about what’s going on. I think he’s not meant to be talking about it much, you know? But he seems okay. A little…off?”

“How?”

“Disappointed, I guess? Like I said, I’m not sure what they’ve got him doing but it doesn’t sound like what he thought he was signing up for.”

That was true for most of us, probably all of us. I had an inkling of what I was getting myself into but it didn’t hardly scratch the surface.

In a hospital, at least a decently-funded hospital, you are likely to have the best of what modern medicine has to offer for the circumstances. In the middle of war-torn Europe, you have what supplies can reach you and then whatever you can force to work.

I had seen death before that; some of the first rounds at the hospital, before I was properly a nurse, I had seen death. Mostly the elderly but some just sick.

The men I saw die in Italy with neither, or rarely the latter. A boy no older than Bradan was the first one I lost. He had taken too many bullets in the stomach. Even after removing them, I couldn’t stitch up the holes enough to keep him patched together.

I cried for what felt like days afterward, even as I got more blood on my hands. There wasn’t the luxury of time to sit and feel sorry – not even when, nine months after arriving in Italy, I received news of my brother’s death.

Sweet, soft-spoken Emmet. I collapsed into the mud at the feet of the messenger, clutching the slip of paper with the words “Killed In Action”. He reached for me and I shoved him away. I didn’t know him or at least didn’t recognize him, but I hated him. Hated him for telling me, for living when Emmet wasn’t.

“Mrs. Rogers?” I heard Peggy’s accented voice behind me, a gently hand on my shoulder. “Mrs. Rogers, let’s get you out of the rain, shall we?...Thank you, I’ll see to her from here.”

I didn't have words. Agent Carter helped me numbly to my feet, not minding the mud dripping from my knees down. She held me gingerly by the shoulders and led me to her tent.

"I'm afraid you're taller than I am. Sit here, by the heat. I'll go gather some things for you to change into."

I moved where she led me, the paper wrinkling in my grasp. I have no sense of how long she was away and barely noticed her return.

"Let's get you out of those stockings, at least. Would you like my help?"

I nodded and shifted, not letting go of the paper. She ended up redressing my stockings and skirt, my cloak replaced by a blanket and my shoes set to be clean. She covered my feet in a pair of socks just shy of big enough and set them atop a pair of her shoes.

"Would you like some tea?"

I turned to look at her, feeling lost. The expression of helplessness must have been evident because she set about making the tea herself.

"Whom did you lose?" she asked over the gently crackling fire, my tea warming my hands. The paper stared at me from my redressed lap.

I stared at her for a long moment. I wasn't upset that she asked; I was too upset to even bother worrying about it. Saying the words out loud, though, would make it too real. It couldn't be Steve; she would have probably found out before I did.

"Do you have any siblings?" I asked, not able to say the words.

"Two brothers. Well, had. One of them died, early on in the fighting. We, the British, joined the war before the Americans did. Michael died in 1940. Matthew is in Intelligence."

"Three," I replied, hiccupping on a sob. I watched her, poised but sad. I could see it in her face and hear it in her words, but she maintained her calm. "I had three. Emmet..." The sob broke through. "It says he was killed in action. He was the oldest boy. All three...all three of them are over here, or at least I think so. _I promised_.." Peggy took my cup from me in a show of agility I had never seen when my body wracked with sobs. After setting it down, she curved an arm over my shoulder and held me as I devolved into hysterics. "I _promised_ Ma we'd all make it home! **I promised**!"

She let me wail and brushed my hair from my face, rubbing my back soothingly. It was strange for me to realize that we were only a few months apart in age. This strong, fierce woman who brokered no disagreement from soldiers and put her all into defending the defenseless.

After I had cried my tears and my tea ran cold, she brought me a wet cloth to wipe my face. She heated my tea and talked to me of her brothers. To tell me about Michael, she had to tell me about her forgotten wedding plans. There were undoubtedly other things that either or both of us needed to do more than sit in the relative warmth of her tent but we took the time to do it regardless. Yes, a war was waging and men were dying – but she knew that I needed to feel human again, if only for an afternoon.

I wasn’t better when I left her, shoes dried but still caked in mud and eyes red from all the crying I had done. I was still numb, still in shock. I kept the paper that had delivered my brother’s fate to me and tucked it in among what few things I had with me in Italy.

Bucky held me tightly in a few stolen moments after I patched up his forehead. They were pushing back and, for the moment, doing a good job of it. Or decent, anyway. We told stories of Emmet and I cried all over again. I knew the next day I would have to put it behind me, hold my sorrow inside of me, and press on. We all had to press on.

Over the next few weeks, I received letters from my parents and Steve remarking on the situation. The letter was from my father – blocky, distinct handwriting with a splotch of water near the words commenting on Emmet’s service. My mother didn’t write and I was almost glad for it, afraid of what she might say to me. I prayed she didn’t write to Steve, for fear of what the letter would entail. Steve’s words shook me again – Emmet had become his little brother, much like he had for Bucky. It was not the same loss but it was a deep one regardless.

Time passed and I saw Emmet’s face in that of every soldier I helped or lost. The pain didn’t dull, but I perhaps grew more used to it. Steve’s letters waned in frequency but I couldn’t blame him; Peggy managed to keep me up-to-date at least as best as she could. As long as he was alive, I would be all right.

While there was not an overabundance of down-time, Peggy and I spent what little we could spare in the company of one another. More often than not, we were silent; we shared confidences when appropriate, but just knowing there was a kindred spirit near to me made a difference.

Bucky and I were not the sort of people to express affection to one another in words. I hugged him hard and often, which he returned with vigor. We teased each other as siblings might, as he and Steve did. Our friendship was deep and true.

He and his men were off to fight, to push back again. There was some sort of coup, perhaps; I wasn’t given very many details, that wasn’t part of my job. My job was to be there to fix them up afterward.

I hugged him tightly, held him close, and squeeze. “I love you, Bucky. Keep your pretty little head on your pretty little shoulders, yah?”

When he pulled back, he tapped my chin with two knuckles on his left hand. “Love you too, Iz. Better be here to fix me up when I get back. Nobody can lay a stitch like you.”

“Ma would be so proud,” I snorted, shoving his shoulder a little. “On with you, get.”

On he got.

Days passed, then weeks. I was there, waiting for him. He didn’t come back.

Other members of the 107th showed up, broken and dirty. I did my best to search for Bucky while I did my duty and was sorely, desperately unsuccessful.

“Please, please tell me-”

“…captured,” the man beneath my fingers coughed, fortunately lacking any blood in his saliva. With a sigh of relief, I wiped at the tears in my eyes and smeared the man’s blood on my cheek while I stitched his side wound.

Bucky was alive, or he had been. He still _could_ be.

I couldn’t lose another brother.

And so, I pressed on.


End file.
